


Voyeur

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: AU, Della is a BAMF, Ducktales Family Fic Challenge, Headcanons about the Spear of Selene and its properties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: "Will you come home?"





	Voyeur

 

The instruments were spinning, the sky was black and expansive and endless before them, and if they didn’t hurry reality itself would begin to unravel.

Or, at least that was Della’s theory. Donald just thought the spear would explode. 

_ “It would be the find of the century! Just imagine, you two, an instrument of the gods, a relic straight out of Greek mythology!  _

“How much higher, Della?”

“We’re barely at 10,000 feet, Don! I swear, it’s like the _Joyrider’s_ _fighting_ me!”

“I’m not so sure it’s the  _ plane  _ that’s fighting you, Dell!”

Della glanced over at the copilot’s chair, where her brother was tightly clasping the source of their troubles. 

_ The Spear of Selene! Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? _

Slender and pearlescent, the trident glowed with some unearthly, inner light between Donald’s hands, shining brighter by the second. 

It terrified Della like nothing she had ever seen. 

 

When Scrooge first told them about rumors of the reappearance of a mythical spear capable of granting otherworldly powers, she had shared in his enthusiasm. The promise of adventure, danger, and long-lost treasure enticed her and blinded her like it was wont to do; she and Scrooge were alike in this way. 

Not Donald of course, her designated bodyguard and older brother by three minutes. Her twin, always the more grounded of the two, was skeptical from the start, more guarded than usual when it came to their uncle’s spur of the moment expeditions. On any other occasion she would’ve called him paranoid. 

But the way Scrooge’s eyes shone when they alighted on the Spear of Selene —he was the  _ first _ one to grab it—it was like something had replaced him, his expression glazing over, his tone reverent—

_ She’s magnificent. Unparalleled on this earth, truly. And...mine. She’s mine to weild.  _

 

“I think you’re right, Donny! I think-I think the  _ spear’s _ messing with the plane! I’m barely gaining any altitude!”

“I  _ told _ you this thing was evil!” 

“Can you maybe save the I-told-you-so’s until  _ after _ we get rid of this thing? Before it starts messing with  _ our _ heads too?

 

They should have realized something was wrong from the start.  _ Della _ should’ve realized. 

Scrooge had been more single-minded than either of them had ever seen him, desperate and anxious, and  _ absolutely _ certain that the spear existed, despite it scarcely being more than hearsay. 

Their adventures had always been more for the fun of it, for the purpose of discovery and thrill. Never for any material gain, at least not for themselves. Some families went on camping trips; they fought sky pirates. 

_ Unc’, I’m not so sure about this _ —

_ Keep it to yourself, would ye, nephew? If you’re so afraid of an island, stay with the plane. I dinnae need anyone slowin’ me down. _

“Dell-Della! It’s starting to get hot!”

The spear was practically blinding to look at by this point, but despite the grimace twisting his beak, Donald’s grip had scarcely loosened. 

“How much higher do we have to go?”

The instruments were fluctuating more erratically than before, the  _ Joyrider _ itself shuddering around them. Della couldn’t determine their airspeed, nor their vertical height. All she knew for certain was that the plane was climbing, despite the spear’s interference. 

“Not-not much higher. We’ll be bailing out soon, Donny.”

 

Returning to Duckburg improved nothing. 

Scrooge vanished into the Bin for days on end, with the Spear of Selene, which he he’d refused to part with the entire journey back from Greece. 

Donald and Della returned alone to the mansion, where Mrs. Beakley had been watching the boys. Huey, Dewey, and Louie were scarcely six months old, but were already proving to be as mischievous as their mother and uncle had been, crawling everywhere and getting into everything. 

On the fifth night Scrooge failed to return home, Donald was bouncing Dewey on his knee and throwing glances at the door, hoping against hope to see their uncle fill the doorway. 

_ This isn’t right, Dell. Scrooge hasn’t been himself, not since before Nimos. We should make sure he’s okay.  _

So it was that the next morning Della strapped her boys into their stroller and she and Donald drove to the Money Bin. What they found was more worrisome than either of them had anticipated. 

Firstly, they found the Bin empty, devoid of any employees in all it’s sixty levels of offices. 

Scrooge they found in his uppermost office, the massive vault holding his wealth sealed. He looked like he hadn’t slept for any of the five days he’d been away. His sideburns were in disarray, his eyes bloodshot, clothing rumpled and stained. He sat at his desk surrounded by scattered papers and half a dozen telephones, their cords trailing out to various outlets like vines snaking off his great oak desk. 

He was shouting furiously into one of the phones when they entered, one hand hand clenched around the receiver while the other held the spear. 

Scrooge reacted with contempt upon seeing them. 

_ Well, if it isn’t my two favorite freeloaders! With their three freeloaders-in-training.  _

Donald’s hackles would’ve risen had it not been clear that something was wrong with their uncle. But the more they spoke to him, tried to reassure him, the more certain they became that something was very,  _ very _ wrong. 

Scrooge spoke of spies, of traitors, of threats to his wealth. It was paranoia on a level they’d never seen from him, and it frightened Della in its intensity. 

_ Will you come home?  _ She pleaded, glancing down at the spear clenched tightly in his grasp. 

_ What, so you and yer conniving friend there can get me out of the way? So ye can finally raid my vault like ye’ve always wanted to?  _ Scrooge accused, eyes livid and wild. 

_ You’re talkin’ crazy, Unc’. You know we don’t care about your money.  _ Donald ever the voice of reason when his temper wasn’t in control, tried to ease into Scrooge’s space. 

Their uncle lashed out with his cane, keeping the Spear of Selene pressed tight against his chest. Donald barely avoided being bludgeoned, ducking back just in time. 

Scrooge tripped on the cluster of telephone cords around his desk, falling to the floor with a sharp  _ smack _ . His cane rolled away from him. 

When Donald went to help him up, Scrooge shook him off, pointing the Spear of Selene at his chest.

_ Dinnae  _ touch _ me,  _ you _...you… _

Scrooge’s eyes were glassy, and he looked at them like they were strangers (like he hadn’t helped raised them). 

Her brother was stupefied and silent, but Della stepped forward incredulously. 

_ Donald. He’s  _ Donald _ , your  _ nephew _. And I’m _ —

_ I know what ye are! Layabouts and leeches, comin’ out of the woodwork to take advantage me and my wealth! Well I’m wise to yer tricks!  _

One of the triplets, maybe Louie, began to cry. 

_ Get out of my sight! And take your brats with you! _

 

“Donald! You should strap on a parachute now!” 

Della still eyed her instruments with justified but unfamiliar worry, relying largely on guesswork to determine how high up they were. 

“You first, Del! I’m worried this thing’ll make the plane nosedive or something if I let go of it!”

 

_ It’s the spear, Del. We have to get it away from him.  _

_ I know, I know. What do we do?  _

Della left the boys with Mrs. Beakley again, kissing each of them goodbye before she and Donald sped to the Money Bin in the dead of night. 

Donald set off the fire alarm and triggered the sprinkler system throughout the Bin, before rushing to retrieve Della’s  _ Joyrider  _ from the garage and get the engine running. Their plan was to catch Scrooge offguard, since they both knew that otherwise they wouldn’t be getting the spear without a fight. 

The sprinklers even soaking through her pilot’s jacket, Della waited in a hidden corner of the lobby, holding a heavy, black metal flashlight just beneath her chin. She stood, shivering in the darkness, under the sprinklers and crimson strobe light, the fire alarm piercing the air. And thanks to her, it could only be disabled from the primary control panel in the lobby. 

Only a few minutes after Donald pulled the fire alarm, Della heard the elevator at the other end of the room open, and her uncle tromped out, as drenched as she was. The Spear of Selene gleamed starkly in his hand. 

He walked past her hiding place, and she didn’t hesitate. Della stepped out and brought the flashlight down against Scrooge’s back, catching him on the shoulder and sending him crashing to the floor with a pained grunt. 

She dropped the flashlight before bending down and snatching the spear from his loosened grasp, her hands slick and shaky. She ran for the side exit without a backward glance. 

Della burst out into frigid night air, running across the expanse of flat stone behind the Bin where Donald and the  _ Joyrider  _ waited. Her brother stood at the open door, and waved frantically when he saw her. 

But something caught her ankle, and she slammed onto the ground. The spear went flying out of her hands. 

Della looked back to see Scrooge, hunched on the ground with his cane extended. 

_ Thief,  _ he hissed,  _ I knew you’d try taking her from me.  _

_ It’s  _ Della _!  _ She wanted to cry.  _ It’s your  _ niece!

But Scrooge reached for her, his eyes cold and greedy and cruel, and on instinct she reared back and kicked him. She felt the kick connect, but didn’t see the damage she might’ve caused. 

Della shoved herself to her feet, seized the spear once more, and sprinted the rest of the way to the plane. 

 

“I think something’s wrong, Dell.”

With the autopilot engaged, Della had quickly donned a parachute pack. They were the kind Donald had insisted Scrooge commision, complete with oxygen mask, lifevest, and a small inflatable raft. 

But the plane banked suddenly, and Della collided harshly with the wall. Donald smacked his head against the console. 

Della fought to regain control of the plane, and her brother pointed at one of the few instruments that hadn’t gone haywire—until now. 

“Autopilot’s busted.”

“I guess the spear doesn’t want us getting rid of it, huh?”

Donald’s smile was tight, the feathers of his palms and fingers that he had wrapped around the spear beginning to blacken as it burned him. 

“We can-we can still jump! We’ll leave the spear, detonate the fuel tank, just like we planned.” 

Donald’s smile became apologetic. 

“I don’t think I can let go of it, Dell.”

Della hated Scrooge in that moment. Hated  _ herself _ for allowing the possibility of adventure to blind her until it was too late. 

“I’m so sorry, Donny.”

“I know, Dell.”

With her attention focused on the controls she didn’t notice Donald get up until she heard the whir of the cargo bay doors as they opened. 

“Donny, what—”

“I’m following the plan.”

Terror flooded her. 

“If you think I’m leaving you behind—”

“I think I can get my hands unstuck. It’ll hurt like a mother, but, y’know.”

It was too good to be true. Deep down, Della knew that. 

“Hurry up! Before this bucket of bolts falls out of the sky.”

“What’ve I told you about insulting my  _ Joyrider _ ?”

Della quickly left the controls, stepping onto the ramp to prepare for the jump. Donald walked over to where the parachutes were hanging. 

She donned her oxygen mask, tightened the straps, and looked back at Donald. 

He was back at the control panel, the spear still in his hands, arms awkwardly wrapped around the control wheel. 

“I love you, Dell.”

He jerked the control wheel back, and the  _ Joyrider  _ lurched heavenward. 

Unable to keep her footing, Della went tumbling out of the plane. 

 

She was in freefall for several agonizing seconds, spinning end over end until she managed to right herself. The  _ Joyrider _ continued on above her, flying off into an increasingly lightening sky under the encroachment of the dawn. 

“Please, Don,” she muttered, though it was unclear even to her what exactly she was asking for. A miracle, maybe. 

But even as Della fell farther and farther, the ocean beneath her drawing nearer, she did nothing but keep her eyes on her plane. 

When she could wait no longer, she yanked on the cord to release her parachute. It pillowed above her, obscuring her vision for several precious moments. When she was able to see again, the plane had vanished into thin air. 

As if it had never been there in the first place.

 

Della sat in her small liferaft long enough for the sun to rise, though it was a pitiful dawn largely obscured by clouds. 

Rescue teams found her by that point, several dozen miles out from Duckburg. She complied robotically with their first aid ministrations, and told the Coast Guard where she’d last seen the plane heading, but she knew it was futile. 

Her  _ Joyrider  _ had blinked out of existence in an instant. It hadn’t crashed, it didn’t sink. It was just gone. 

Her  _ brother _ had blinked out of existence. 

Ridiculous, over protective Donald, who didn’t belong in the sky, who didn’t deserve to pay for her mistakes, for  _ Scrooge’s _ mistakes. Her brother, who had been so eager to help her raise the boys, who was so proud of being an uncle. Her brother, who hadn’t just died, but had ceased to exist. 

Scrooge was waiting on the dock when she returned on the rescue boat. 

Della only had a moment to observe him, standing with shoulders hunched, hands white-knuckled around his cane, like it was the only thing keeping him standing. His expression was gaunt, eyes unseeing. 

He saw her the moment she stood up, before she was even on the dock. His eyes filled with a terrible hope as she disembarked, waiting for the familiar sailor’s hat to pop up behind her, for Donald to follow, trailing complaints. 

But she stepped out onto the dock alone, and saw firsthand as Scrooge’s world crumbled. 

He lurched over to her, cane thudding rapidly against the wooden planks, and despite the fervor that surrounded them, the chaos of rushing bodies, he looked at Della like she was the only person left in the world. 

“Donald…?” Scrooge said, his voice thin. It was almost a plea. 

Her uncle had a black eye from where she’d kicked him. She knew by the way he held himself that his shoulder ached from the blow she’d dealt with the flashlight. 

Della couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry. 

“He’s gone. The spear took him.”

Saying the words out loud didn’t make them feel any more real. 

For Scrooge, they might not have been real at all. She watched denial slam over his eyes like a visor, and he shook his head slightly. 

“Well he’s not gone then, is he? If the spear’s taken him someplace, we just need to find out where. Interdimensional portals, wormholes, we haven’t seen those before, have we?”

Act like nothing’s wrong, chapter one of Scrooge‘s Guide to Personal Loss.

But despite how level Scrooge endeavoured to keep his voice, he still sounded desperate to Della’s ears. It seemed as though she’d finally found something his one hundred and fifty years couldn’t have prepared him for. 

Della shook her head mutely, fingers tightening around the blanket a paramedic had given her. 

She didn’t look at him. She felt numb, like there was nothing keeping her tethered to earth. 

Scrooge seemed to flounder at her lack of response. 

“Will..will you at least come home, Della?” he asked softly. 

One word, and something within her  _ snapped _ in that moment, knocking her out of her grief induced stupor. 

“ _ Home _ ?” She demanded, clenching her blanket tight in one bloodless hand. With her free hand she furiously pointed out across the ocean, past the bay, past the horizon itself. “My home just  _ vanished _ at thirty-thousand feet. It’s  _ dead _ . Because of your  _ pride _ . Because  _ you _ were selfish, greedy, and  _ weak _ .”

Scrooge had never looked smaller to her eyes, bruised and battered, his expression pained.

“Della, I know you blame me,” Scrooge started to say, but she ruthlessly cut him off. 

“Do  _ you _ ?” She demanded. 

Scrooge’s expression was a war of shock and betrayal. “I…”

“Fine then,” Della shrugged, tears rising up to choke her. “Do you blame  _ me _ ?” 

Scrooge’s brow furrowed, and when he opened his beak she knew it was to refute her. 

“Because I do,” Della went on. “And if I’d been the one who disappeared, you would’ve blamed  _ him _ .”

Della knew he was softer on her because he saw her mother in her, even his own mother in her, knew that he saw  _ himself _ in her. He was always more open with her, more vulnerable, than he ever was with Donald. She’d always seen it as a  _ blessing _ , receiving Uncle Scrooge’s favor. 

“If I’d gotten stuck holding the spear, if I’d forced Donald out of the plane, you would’ve blamed  _ him _ . Not me, and certainly not you. Because I’m  _ just _ like you, and for  _ Donald _ to have survived it must’ve been him to make the mistake.” 

She spat poison at Scrooge on that dock, and knew he wouldn’t shout, he wouldn’t lecture or belittle—because she was the  _ favorite _ . 

“I put Donald in danger because I trusted my judgement, because I trusted  _ you _ ,” Della said with finality. “That’s not a mistake I’ll ever make again.”

“We may yet find him, lass,” Scrooge tried. 

Della had had enough. She walked past Scrooge without looking at him. 

“I’m going to get the boys, and then you’ll never see us again.” 

Pushing away family was at least one thing she and Scrooge had in common. 

 

Returning to the mansion she was greeted with the ghost of Donald’s presence, and home staring back at her from the eyes of three identical ducklings.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> I literally cannot wait for the truth to come out about what happened to Della. I'm sure both Donald and Scrooge are carrying a lot of guilt, and it'll be amazing to see play out onscreen.


End file.
